


That intriguing mystery

by Liena67



Series: From the end a new beginning [4]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: F/M, First Kiss, Kissing in the Rain, POV Irene Adler, POV Sherlock Holmes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-11
Updated: 2018-04-11
Packaged: 2019-04-21 08:29:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,463
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14280999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Liena67/pseuds/Liena67
Summary: This one-Shot is positioned within the third episode of the fourth series of SherlockBBC. A simple picture I had in mind and that I enjoyed carrying in a one-shot.





	That intriguing mystery

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Francesca_Wayland](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Francesca_Wayland/gifts).



> I thank Francesca Wayland for inspiring me. Francesca you imagined that Irene was reading a book while she was in Baker Street, from which she had later taken the name Nero. I imagined other, but the idea that she was reading a book you gave me. Thank you for your stories and I hope you will like my stories.  
> Have fun ^_^
> 
> Originally written in Italian forgive my translation and any mistakes

It is a strange silence that has enveloped the 221B of Baker Street in the last hours. The kitchen table is now cleared of all the tools, with which the drugs that Sherlock hired to solve the damn case were being prepared. There are no dirty dishes, apart from two cups of tea, his and John's. The living room is in order, on the desk the laptop is closed, the curtains of the windows are pulled over and the only light is that of a dim lamp, that illuminates the face of Sherlock, sitting in his armchair. On the mantlepiece, skewered by a knife, the paper that the false daughter of that crazy serial killer Culverton Smith had left, when she had presented herself to him. John went away in the early afternoon, after planning the "trap" together for Mycroft, to force him to tell them about Eurus, whose existence Sherlock doesn’t remember at all. He spent the last few hours locked up in his mental palace, looking for some detail that he could reconnect to her, but found no trace of her sister Eurus in any room, not even in those hidden in the cellars or in the attic of this immense construction representing his mind and all his memories. How it's possible that he remembers nothing about her is something incredible. Yet Eurus, after faking John's psychoanalyst and before she stunned him, told him clearly. And why on earth this woman would lie? But especially why she has organized all this staging, changing appearance and name continuously and weaving her way with that of John and his? It makes no sense. A puzzle that has to solve and soon, because he knows that the time is now expired and the East Wind is coming to take him. Time continues to flow while Sherlock still wanders through the halls and rooms of his mental palace. His appearance is back as always and the drugs that he had injected have completely abandoned his body. His mind now works at full speed and is as always unstoppable.

It's almost eleven o'clock in the evening when the sound of his ringing phone brings him back to the reality of his living room. He sighs a long time annoyed and would like to not answer. But the phone doesn't stop playing. The telephone line falls but immediately resumes. It must be something important, maybe John with some news. Sherlock moves his hand to the phone resting on the coffee table and looks at the display. Angelo? Why his favorite restaurateur calling him at this hour? He got himself in trouble again? Sherlock squints eyes for an instant then, before the line falls again, responds.

"Angelo... what's going on?"

"Oh Hello Sherlock. All right? It's been a while since I saw you here" the voice of Angelo is serene and relaxed, it does not look like a man with problems and the fact that now he has called him wonder even more.

"Angelo I don’t remember that we have ever made conversation that was not about the menu of your restaurant and we will not start now... so now, tell me for what strange reason you called me" replies Sherlock in a bored tone but also surprised.

"Yes, of course, sorry maybe you were busy. I just wanted to warn you that a friend of yours left a present for you here" replies Angelo, without changing his cheerful tone.

“Friend? What friend? I have no friends... or someone I have but you know them… John and Greg... and then why would they leave a present for me?" Sherlock's voice is now clearly astonished.

"Well, that I can't tell you. I thought maybe he was your boyfriend and he wanted to be discreet, I don't know. Anyway it's here come and pick it up whenever you want"

"I have no boyfriend. This story begins to get boring "replies Sherlock, raising his eyes to the sky and then sigh "okay listen, don’t touch it, I'll be there soon" tells him at the end and without waiting for his answer closes the communication, quickly descends to the lower plane, tucks his coat and goes out into the street with the mind that already scans all possible hypotheses and the most plausible is that it has to do with Eurus. He must reach Angelo in the shortest time possible.

 

"So what? Don't you open it? Looks like a simple gift to me... usually the gifts open. Did anyone ever explain it to you?" asks Angelo, watching Sherlock turn around in his hands the gift pack. The form is clearly that of a book. But who could ever think of giving him a book and leave it by Angelo, is a thought that has been badgering Sherlock's mind since he entered the restaurant and took this gift in his hands.

"I'm checking there's no filaments or dust. Tell me again the man who brought it to you" Sherlock says, continuing to look carefully at the gift.

"I told you so. A handsome man I would say, not very tall, but from the beautiful features seemed to me. The beard hid his face a little, actually. Clear eyes if I remember correctly. I think you should give him a thought Sherlock... It looks like he wants you well... you would make a nice couple you know" he tells him again, while saluting with one hand a couple who at that time is leaving the restaurant.

"Oh for God Angelo, I don’t have boyfriends and I don’t intend to have. You have to accept it" exclaims Sherlock, then decides to open the gift with care until discovering an elegant copy of "The Taming of the Shrew" by William Shakespeare.

"But what a nice present... this must be an expensive edition... see that I'm right that he cares about you?" Angelo tells him, before he quickly disappears into the back of the restaurant. Sherlock sighs and now dedicates his full attention to this book that lies in his hands. He has a copy equal to its home, even if of a much less elegant and refined edition. He opens it with care, checking every page, but no dedication, no note or other that can indicate who gave it and why. He weighs in his hands and finally decides to leave the restaurant, without even bothering to greet before leaving. His mind is galloping furiously as he walks down the deserted sidewalks at this late hour at night. The man's appearance, as Angelo described to him, could make a woman he thinks, but why Eurus should give him that book? Perhaps the only one who can give him this answer is Mycroft, he certainly has the answers and he will get them out all, one by one. Lost in these thoughts, Sherlock continues to walk holding the book under one arm and suddenly a memory appears in his mind, making him block instantly. He takes the book and looks at it again.

"Certainly. The Taming of the Shrew... She was reading it that night" he exclaims aloud, without even realizing it. At that moment a sound, that sound, announces the arrival of a message. Sherlock closes his eyes for a moment and, as always, against his will, the heart quickens for a few moments. He sighs and takes from his coat pocket the phone to read the message.

**The Woman:** I'm flattered...

Sherlock looks at the phone display and arches an eyebrow to read the message. He then closes the phone and puts it in his coat pocket. He sighs again and in doing so now her unmistakable scent clearly comes to his nostrils.

"Don't be... you know my mind doesn't forget any particular. It's not about you but my mind" he says, turning to his right where, resting on the wall of a building in an alley in the shade, Irene looks at him with her particular smile, so brazen and magnetic. Despite being dressed with a suit of men and hair collected under a hat, she manages to emanate sensuality and elegance. From the pocket of the jacket comes out the fake beard with which she has presented by Angelo and now she remains there, to observe him without detaching her eyes from those of him.

"I'm not flattered that you remembered what book I was reading that night, while you were lost in your mental palace... but I find it sexy" she says with an even more captivating smile.

"And for what then?" demanded Sherlock approaching a few steps and pretending he had not grasped her allusion.

"Because you changed your phone... but you transferred both my number and my ringtone" tells him Irene with an expression now amused.

"And how did you know before you sent me the message?" asks yet Sherlock, coming now a few steps away from this woman who continues to be for him a damn mystery, intriguing but damned mystery. It always seems to him that she continues to mock him, but he still does not understand whether it makes him angry or amuses him.

"John told me," replies with a seraphic smile Irene.

“What? And since when do you talk with John?" he asks now with a surprised and astounded expression.

"Oh my God don't be alarmed" replies Irene laughing "he told me but he didn't know to tell me. You know, John is more social than you. He has a Facebook profile and I’m among his friends… or rather my alias Alice. We talk continuously, and he has escaped that he discovered that a close friend of his is still in contact with a woman, that he thought belonged now to the past. When I asked him how he had found out, he told me that this friend had a particular ringtone for her messages... so Sherlock... yes… I'm flattered" ends Irene, coming off now from the wall to get close to him.

Sherlock sighs and slowly shakes his head.

"You are a really terrible woman" he tells, thinking the face that John will do when he finds out he's been talking to Irene for who knows how long.

"You know me, and you know how to compliment me" Irene replies with a slight giggle.

“Stop. It's not a compliment but just a finding. And again, you're risking your cover for nonsense. You could send the gift" he still says, shaking his head.

"I could... but I wanted to see for myself what condition you were... filling up with all those drugs was a madness that only you could think of doing" replied Irene without upset.

"Don't you ever give up Irene?"

"And why on earth would I give up when I know I've won?"

"Don't talk nonsense... remember that I beat you to your own game."

"4,394"

"And what does that mean now?" asks Sherlock perplexed.

"You don't go out of the house for a case if it's not at least an eight."

"And so?"

"London Karachi... 4,394 kilometers" the voice of Irene is now a whisper and her blue eyes as the deepest of the sea, seem to shine, in spite of the sky being covered by clouds now increasingly threatening.

"That doesn't mean anything," replies Sherlock after a few moments, now rearrangeing the book in an inside coat pocket.

"If you say so…" Irene tells him, with a barely audible voice and that mischievous smile, that always makes him lose a heartbeat. At that moment a sudden thunder makes almost all the glass of the buildings tremble and a pouring rain falls on the city. In a few moments their clothes get wet until soaking but neither of them seems to care.

A few steps from each other, they look like in a mute battle that lasts since they met. Irene takes off her hat, that now fell on her face, careless of the water that bathes her hair, that now falls on her shoulders. A solitary car runs along the semi-desert road and the puddles are already formed near the manholes. A red cat suddenly crosses the road and the noise of the car's brakes distracts Irene's attention. That cat reminds her of her childhood friend. One of the few beautiful memories of her childhood. Without reflecting, Irene in an instinctive gesture goes to meet the cat, petrified in the street by the headlights of the car, taking it on the fly, without calculating that the brakes of the car running in the wet do not have much grip. The movement that she does to take the cat does not allow her to move quickly, but an arm seizes her with decision to her hips and before she notices, Sherlock can take her on the opposite side of the road, just a few moments before the arrival of the car. The frightened voice of the driver who yells them to pay more attention, gets lost in the noise of the rain.

"You have a bad habit of getting yourself into trouble" Sherlock tells her in an altered tone.

"I have the impression then that I have to thank you again for saving my life" replies Irene after a moment, while still holding the cat in her arms now soaked in water as they do.

"You're crazy.... much crazier than me" says Sherlock shaking his head.

Irene looks at him and suddenly begins to laugh in taste. She lets go of the cat, that takes refuge in an alley looking for a dry place, and she can’t stop laughing.

"Precisely... now you have an acute crisis of madness evidently. What's so funny about this?" He asks while passing a hand through his hair, now completely wet, as the rain begins to diminish.

“Nothing. It just seems like the scene of that movie. Breakfast at Tiffany's" Irene tells him, still laughing.

"Tiffany is a jewelry store. I am absolutely certain that it does not have a bar service and if it ever set it up, it would be the most ridiculous thing you could think of. Unless you mean that breakfast is done from the bar in front of Tiffany, but in that case the title would be completely wrong..." Sherlock tells her with a perplexed look "and then... "

"Oh for God sake, you're adorable when you do this, but for once Sherlock... shut up" Irene interrupts him and before he can answer her, she grabs with both hands the collar of his coat, she raises on the tip of her toes and pulling him to herself, she kisses him slightly. A slight kiss on the lips wet by the rain that still descends. Just a moment. A fleeting kiss, like the one she gave him at the Carnival party. But this time just the instant she's going to get away, he kisses her too. A slight imperceptible pressure of his lips. Irene feels the shivers that travel her body to that feeling. Stealing a kiss was already in itself a beautiful feeling, but feeling him start responding, is something that almost overwhelms her.

Sherlock closed his eyes the instant he heard those lips again on his. He remembered them well, he had not forgotten that sensation, those soft lips, her scent that filled his nostrils. The breath that suddenly misses him. The heart that starts to beat and run like a train, and especially the mind that suddenly tarnishes. Not once with Janine he heard even one of these feelings, even in the most intimate moments. With Janine there was a purpose and although it was also pleasant, his body was commanded by his mind. Never even once had he lost touch with his mind. There was a goal to reach and it was what he pursued, no real desire. With her, with The Woman, everything is different. Sherlock hears those hands that hold him by the coat and her lips that are about to break away from him, and can not help it, he fails to resist the desire to hear them again. Slightly he responds to the kiss, a slight movement, as if he were making an inner battle between what he wants and what a part of him he would rather dismiss. The hands, against his will, lift up and take her face and the kiss gradually becomes more sensual and languid.

Irene tightens herself more and more to him and a groan gets lost in his mouth.

For a moment Sherlock's mind comes on recording in his mental palace that sound, which for the first time he hears live and not only artificially on his phone. A sound that gets upon him a flagrant effect. The kiss becomes deeper and more passionate and Sherlock pushes her against a wall and this time the groaning comes out of his own throat. How it is possible that this woman has this effect on him, is something he still fails to understand today. The only thing he understands is that now he would like to sink with all his being in her, get lost in her and forget everything. The kiss lasts long, an infinite time, until almost no more breath stops both. The lips that touch each other, the breathless breaths, the fogged eyes that look at each other.

Irene looks at him, observes him for a long time and in his eyes she sees what he wants but also all his doubts. It would be very easy now for her to have him. His physique responds in a powerful way and this time his mind would not be able to stop him. But that's not how she wants him. With whoever Irene always took what she wanted when and how she said it. But she wants this man completely, without compromise, without any regret, even for one night. She grazes his lips again for once then slowly detaches her hands leaving his coat.

"If this is the result... I have to get saved by you some other time" she says in a whisper, with a mischievous and amused smile.

Sherlock resumes his breath and slowly leaves her face moving away from one step. He looks at her and doesn't answer anything. His mind slowly resumes to function and the heart slows down his beats. He would not stop, he was almost to the point of no return, but for a reason that now he doesn’t understand, it was her to stop.

"I must go. I have some important things to do in the next few days" he tells her away from another step.

Irene looks at him and nods without coming off the wall.

"Thanks for the gift" he tells her, feeling the voice still hoarse.

"It was a pleasure... maybe to thank you next time we go out to dinner" Irene replied with that smile, with which seems to tell him anything else.

Sherlock takes a long breath, looks at her one last time, then turns and moves away quickly, without looking back even once.

 

"To put it in place and get it back as new, it will take a lot of work Sherlock" John tells him, while standing in the living room, devastated by the drone-bomb that Eurus had sent them, looking around with a disconsolate look.

"We'll fix everything John... we have no cases at the moment and I would say that time we do not lack. We're going to get help from some of my homeless friends and you'll see that the 221B will return to its splendor... that then thinking about, it is not that it has ever been ordered... it will take little to make it livable" replies Sherlock, for nothing impressed by the devastation, as he crosses the living room, starting to raise furnishings and books still intact to store on a shelf. John nods and, together with a worker sent by Mycroft, begins to arrange the bookcase beside the chimney. Sherlock instead approaches the furniture beside the window, that seems to have survived the impact quite well. He opens a drawer and looks inside the phone of Irene that for years he keeps there guarded. It doesn't seem to have any damage, but besides the phone is not working. It's just a memory. A souvenir he wanted to keep.

_"Because people do, they keep things as memories… sentiment"_ In his mind he suddenly remembers that sentence he himself told John when he met him. Sherlock closes the drawer with a click and look out of the window. He closes his eyes for a moment then he goes to his armchair with a decided look.

He sits down while everyone around him is working.

He takes his phone and writes a message.

**Sherlock:** You know where to find me. S.H.


End file.
